


Fools Rush In

by brilliant_or_insane



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Relationship, but implied to be moving in that direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilliant_or_insane/pseuds/brilliant_or_insane
Summary: There are a few beats of silence that are more awkward than tense, then the figure speaks again. “Um, sorry about this. I’d let you up but—”“I’d punch the daylights out of you?” Benji suggests helpfully.“Something like that.”“You’re not wrong. But you’re being so polite about this incapacitation business that I really would feel a bit bad about it.”
Relationships: Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44
Collections: Benthan Week 2020





	Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose this is a Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU? I have no familiarity with the film; I just heard "spies from rival agencies" and ran with it.
> 
> The title is taken from the song _Fools Rush In_ by Johnny Mercer and Rube Bloom:
> 
> _Fools rush in, where wise men never go_  
>  _But wise men never fall in love_  
>  _So how are they to know?_  
> 

Benji glances at his watch: 20 minutes before he’ll be needed. Goodness, he hadn’t been this far ahead of schedule since— _shit_.

The target’s voice is echoing down the hallway. Given that said target knows Benji by sight, being spotted by him is very much not part of the plan.

Welp. Into the closet it is.

Benji slips inside and shuts the door, registering a second presence just in time to tense before he lands on his back on the floor, securely pinned but surprisingly unbruised.

“Well,” Benji exhales, “that was an unexpectedly literal expression of what being 'in the closet’ feels like.”

The figure holding him down huffs a surprised laugh, then asks: “You alright?”

Thrown off guard in his turn, Benji answers, “A little winded, but all things considered, surprisingly fine.”

There are a few beats of silence that are more awkward than tense, then the figure speaks again. “Um, sorry about this. I’d let you up but—”

“I’d punch the daylights out of you?” Benji suggests helpfully.

“Something like that.”

“You’re not wrong. But you’re being so polite about this incapacitation business that I really would feel a bit bad about it.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Another beat. Then the figure asks, conversationally: “So, I take it you work for the JNS?”

“The JNS?” Benji repeats.

“Don’t bother,” they answer, and Benji could swear they’re smiling, “I saw your face as you came in, and my lot has pictures of all your lot.”

“That’s suspiciously confidential information to offer a rival, Ethan Hunt.”

“Whoah. Okay, first off, we both know it’s an open secret that both our agencies know everyone who works at the other. But you knew my name without seeing my face, so does yours also have voice recordings?”

Benji clamps his mouth shut just in time to avoid saying, _actually we’ve only got a handful, but I can recognize them all—one of the only agents who can—and I remember yours in particular because the first time I heard it I thought, ‘huh, he doesn’t sound like a killer,’ which was nonsensical of course, except now I’m starting to think there may have been something to it …_

Ethan is speaking again, and Benji tries to focus on that and not on the fact that he’d just had a strong impulse to babble company secrets to an arch rival.

Or about the fact that his impulse to babble when nervous only arises around people he likes.

“Impressive,” Ethan is saying. “Granted voices are easier to disguise and harder to recognize, but it’s still got all sorts of uses—”

“SO,” Benji breaks in, unsure why the word emerged so loudly, “I take it you’re here to assassinate the ambassador.”

“Ah,” Ethan answers, and Benji could swear he sounds a little disappointed, “so you buy into the story that all IMF agents are shoot first-act later types?”

Benji considers. “I believe a statistical analysis of the data indicates the IMF is considerably more likely than the JNS to resort to violence as a solution and treat the injury and even death of innocents as acceptable collateral damage.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Look, I don’t think anyone is defined by their workplace—thank god for that—but I find it hard not to be suspicious of anyone who chooses to work for an organization that tends towards rampant violence over one that chooses excessive passivity.”

“… That was a more nuanced answer than I expected.”

“What, because the default at my agency is unbearable smugness and acting like their habit of standing aside while the innocent suffer grants them moral immunity?”

“Uh, yep. Pretty much.”

“Fair enough.”

“Huh. Are we arguing?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Huh.”

“Did you want to be?”

“Not at all, but pinning down people predisposed to hate me doesn’t usually lead to friendly conversation.”

“Eh,” Benji attempts to shrug, and Ethan obligingly shifts his grip to allow for the movement, “I had some time to kill.”

Ethan chuckles softly, then bursts out: “Want to work together?”

Benji blinks. As unpredictable as the last few minutes have been, that leaps to a new level of surprising. “N-no?”

“Not to help me kill him,” Ethan clarifies quickly. “You were half right about that, by the way, it is what the IMF sent me for, but I meant do you want to work together to keep him alive? Preferably while making it look like my team and I are trying to follow orders.”

“You do realize that, apart from you being an oddly polite captor, I have no reason at all to trust you?”

“Yeah, I know,” Ethan answers morosely. “To be honest this isn’t my usual method. I’m kind of winging it here.”

“Oh really? You don’t always recruit rival strangers to help you disobey direct orders?”

“Only the ones I like,” Ethan answers, and Benji could almost swear his tone was—

That line of thought is cut short when Ethan actually releases his grip and stands, then by the sound of it moves to take a seat against the wall.

Stunned, Benji hesitates on the floor for a moment. Obviously he ought to be taking this opportunity to attack or run. He checks his watch, then rises from the floor and feels his way to sit next to Ethan.

“I’ve got ten minutes before I’ve got to move, which means you have ten minutes to explain yourself.”

“Excellent! Do you have any preliminary questions?”

“Only a hundred or so, but to begin, why did you choose the IMF?”

“Because their habit of interfering in everything gives me the information, technology, and transportation necessary to do what needs to be done at crisis points. Or, quite often, to prevent what shouldn’t be done.”

“So you’re saying they send you on missions and then you … ignore orders and do whatever you see fit?”

“Ouch, when you put it that way I sound unspeakably arrogant. In all fairness the IMF has a lot of smart people, so I’m often following their orders. Well, their overall orders. And I’ve got team members who share the decisions with me. But unlike the IMF, we don’t approve of collateral damage, and we’re not much for patriotism. So basically, to answer your question, yes.”

“Okayyy. And you … still have a job?”

“Currently.”

“Meaning?”

“I lost track ages ago of how many times I’ve been fired. But my team and I clean up our messes on or off the clock, and our results are good, even when they aren’t strictly the ones they asked for. They always take us back in the end.”

“Huh. And today you are hoping to avoid getting fired by making it looked like we stopped you from killing the Prime Minister even though you’ll actually be helping us protect him?”

“Precisely! Thanks for the confirmation that your mission is to keep him alive, by the way.”

 _Shit_ , Benji thinks, and he stutters something about how maybe he was trying to misdirect Ethan, but even to himself it doesn’t sound remotely convincing.

Ethan leans over and bumps Benji’s shoulder lightly with his own. “Don’t worry about it. I can tell you’re exceptional at your job.”

Doubtless this was mere flattery; Benji is, in fact, exceptional at his job, but this man could scarcely know that when all he’s done is get himself pinned without a fight and reveal a few agency secrets.

Still, this Ethan Hunt fellow bleeds sincerity in a way that makes him hard to doubt.

“Ah. Okay. So. Tempting as your offer is, can you give literally any evidence that I can trust you?”

There are a few beats of silence before Ethan answers, “Um. No?” He sounds mildly despondent.

“Oh.” Benji is surprised by how disappointed he is. The silence drags on—they seem to have abruptly run out of things to say. Glancing at his watch, he finds he has five more minutes before he absolutely must get in position, and really it would be wiser to leave at once in case there are delays, only—only he doesn’t want to. Which is concerning.

Ethan finally breaks the silence. “Would you have done it? If I could have proved my intentions, I mean. Would you have worked together?”

Benji considers lying. He decides he definitely ought to lie. He doesn’t. “Yes.”

“I thought so,” Ethan answers, his tone laced with faint sadness and, if Benji isn’t kidding himself, admiration.

Suddenly, for all his efforts, Benji finds himself launching into a proper ramble: “I wish I could—I would—I shouldn’t be saying any of this, nothing since I stepped into this closet has made any sense and if you’re lying there are a hundred ways you could use this against me—but I would have said yes even if it was just a different mission, lower stakes. But I can’t bet a man’s life and a country’s stability on this being real, you know? I mean, intuition is important in my—our?—oh what the hell, _our_ line of work, but it just doesn’t make sense, right? If I don’t work with you and I’m wrong, my team and I have less backup and maybe you can’t fake an assassination attempt well enough and are fired, and I’m sorry about that, I’m _sorry_ , but if I go along with it and you’re lying …”

“Hey,” Ethan cuts in gently, and his hand brushes Benji’s only to pull back and come to rest on his forearm. “You’re right. Of course. And I’m sorry for putting you in this position—I was in the middle before I really thought it through. But, um. My teammates are Luther Stickell and Ilsa Faust. You remember what they look like?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Look, I know you can’t take this for granted, but. We’ve got your back. Even if it doesn’t look that way.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“And, if you could maybe not hurt them? I understand if it comes to a point where you feel like you have no choice, but—”

“No—I mean yeah—of course not. If I can possibly help it.”

“Thanks.”

Silence falls a second time. Benji tries to ignore the way his heart clenches at the rapidly decreasing seconds.

It’s Ethan who says: “You should go, shouldn’t you?” and Benji takes a sorry sort of comfort from the fact that Ethan sounds as regretful as Benji feels.

“Yeah.”

He stands up, scarcely remembering to be on the defensive in case Ethan springs a second attack, but even after remembering his precaution is half-hearted.

He slips quickly out the door, checks the vicinity, then turns back towards the door that he hadn’t fully closed. He pulls it open just enough to let in a crack of light, and tries to peer into the darkness. Ethan shifts, still sitting against the wall, so the light falls on his face. He looks tired, and kind.

Raising one hand, Ethan offers a sad little wave.

Benji wants to say something, something particular, but he can’t pinpoint what it is. “Bye,” he says instead, and closes the door.

He walks away stiffly. Grits his teeth. Then he speaks into his comm: “Hi team, I have just been alerted by JNS headquarters that Ethan Hunt, Luther Stickell, and Ilsa Faust of the IMF are in the building. We are to watch them if we can, but they are lower priority than other potential threats. Furthermore, barring extraordinary circumstances _we are not to hurt them_.”

He’s going to have to find a way to explain that later.

* * *

The mission is one of the strangest Benji has ever experienced. Apparently the JNS had been quite prescient in their timing of sending protection to the ambassador, and woefully blind in their estimation of the extent of said danger. For while the ambassador watches his play with perfect complacency, Benji and his two team members dash about desperately attempting to track and foil at least six individuals comprising an unknown number of teams determined to blow his brains out.

In the ongoing panic Ethan and his team are not forgotten, but being kept busy with the six definitely-assassins forces them to merely hope for the best with regard to the three maybe-assassins. Nevertheless, they periodically make themselves known not only by careening past with some unclear objective, often by way of startling aerobatic insanity, but also by way of the occasional power outage, wayward spotlight, or backstage crash, all of which would appear as the result of a tragically poor tech night if one didn’t happen to be keeping a close enough eye on six would-be assassins to observe that these mishaps always inexplicably served to derail their attempts.

And despite spending the the night in a state of heightened panic, Benji feels his heart swell with warmth at every curiously-timed disaster.

When at last the night is done, the ambassador is driven off under the watchful eyes of a second JNS team—reinforcements Benji’s team had begged for when they realized what they were up against, who had arrived too late to help with the actual crisis of six assassins but in time to at least let them off the job a bit earlier than expected.

For his own reasons, Benji is more grateful for this than he dares to say, and he declines to join his teammates for a few well-earned drinks. Instead he lingers inside the emptying theater for a few minutes, eyes flicking through the crowd, then when he is sure his teammates will be gone he follows the stream outside and looks for a spot to wait, just in case.

Instead, his gaze settles on Ethan Hunt, already settled on a nearby bench, eyes fixed on him.

Ethan raises his hand in a small sad wave, an imitation of the wave from the closet, a farewell. But he doesn’t take his eyes off Benji or move from the bench.

 _Fuck that_ , Benji thinks, and strides directly towards Ethan, hiding his smile as he watches Ethan’s eyes widen and his face break into a grin before he stuffs it back into a more neutral, inquisitive expression.

Benji feels he has the upper hand here, and he intends to keep it with a cool and suave entrance, which manifests as his squeaking out, “Hey,” and falling silent.

Fortunately for Benji’s dignity, Ethan only manages to breathe “Hi” in return and gesture vaguely at the empty space next to him on the bench.

Tempting though the offer is, Benji gathers himself and shakes his head. “Thanks, but now I have the luxury of time, I think I’m going to do a bit of, erm, research.” Benji rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I was wondering—quite up to you of course—if there is, perhaps, a phone number you’d be willing to offer? In case I like what I find and, um, need help rescuing some civilians the JNS has decided they can’t save? Or something?”

“Oh—” Ethan answers, “Oh, sure! Yeah! Um, use this one:” Ethan rattles off a string of numbers, which Benji logs carefully in his mind. He has an excellent memory, but all the same he resolves to write them down as soon as he’s out of sight.

“Got it, great, thanks!” Benji answers, sounding rather more peppy than he’d intended, then he turns away, realizes even as he does so that he’s got one more thing to say, and turns back. Unfortunately he neither pauses nor reverses directions in doing so, the result being what was to all appearances an unmotivated 360° spin.

Doing his best to ignore the sensation of his face heating and the smile Ethan is struggling valiantly to hide, Benji adds quickly, “And thank you, for your help, today.”

Ethan smiles in earnest then, and answers:

“It was my pleasure.” And Christ, if he doesn’t seem like he means it.

* * *

The moment Benji is out of sight, Ethan sprints to the nearest viable retailer, purchases a burner phone, and programs it with the number he’d given Benji. Assuring himself sternly that Benji is going to do research first and therefore wouldn’t have messaged him in the last ten minutes, Ethan makes his way to the hotel where he will stay the night before flying back to headquarters.

When he reaches his room, he knows he ought to go to bed at once. He functions best when he keeps his routines as tight as his unpredictable work allows. But tonight he can’t seem to settle his mind for wondering … how good is Benji with computers? Despite the chaos of the night Ethan had seen enough to be confident he is a highly intelligent and capable agent. Still, digging up any seemingly relevant information about Ethan would require considerable technical still, and digging beyond that to identify the actual truth would require far more. And even if Benji possesses the skill, will he care enough to put in the effort? Or what if everything goes exactly right, only for Benji to mess up the phone number and be left thinking Ethan never replied? What if—

The trouble is, Ethan is excited about Benji. Excited by the potential of having an ally on the other side, of course, that could revolutionize their ability to help from the inside, but beyond that, excited by _Benji_ himself. By his fair-mindedness, his skepticism, his willingness to find an ally in the most unlikely of places. By his skill, his anxious kindness, the expressiveness of his inflections. By something more than rote traits—something Ethan couldn’t yet identify, something fundamental about the way he carries himself, the way they fell instantly into a sort of comfort with one another in the least promising of circumstances.

Ethan hasn’t felt this way since—well. Since the day he met Julia.

He’s not building a mountain of hopes just yet. For some time he’s been much better at the whole hope business in his professional than in his personal life. And there are a million and one reasons that nothing might ever come of this new acquaintanceship, or that something might come of it only for it to fall apart.

But just now, for the first time in so very long, he wants the chance to try.

The phone buzzes.

Ethan snatches and opens it, breaking into a slow-dawning smile as he reads the message from an unknown number:

_Coffee? ;)_


End file.
